perfectly beautiful, that face, that he wanted to shut his eyes against
it. It almost hurt. It was the face of a young woman, very pale, but
when her eyes met Eric's they filled with dancing laughter. Her hair
under her peaked, white hood glistened blue-black like a river in the
snow. She lifted a small white hand and tapped on the window pane,
nodding to him merrily.

Ivra turned at the sound of the little fingers on the glass. When she
saw the face, she started to her feet with a frightened cry, and rushing
to the door, drew the bolt.

"She can't get in. She can't get in, Eric. Don't be afraid. We are
safe." But the poor little girl did not believe her own words. She was
trembling.

"Why, I'm not afraid," said Eric, running to the window. The merry eyes
drew him. Now her mouth danced into smiles with her eyes. She made
pretty signs to him to open the window and let her in.

But Ivra pulled him back. "Don't you know? It's the Beautiful Wicked
Witch!" she whispered.

But Eric was impatient. "How can she be wicked when she's so beautiful!"
he exclaimed. He was so little used to beautiful people in his life that
now he was fascinated and delighted.

The Beautiful Wicked Witch looked at Ivra then, and Ivra saw how her
eyes were dancing, great black eyes full of splendor and fun. She caught
her breath. She laughed back at the Beautiful Wicked Witch. She could
not help herself. But her hands flew to her mouth to stop the laugh.